


Games Night

by Daegaer



Series: For Art's Sake [39]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2020-01-25 22:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18583498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: 1920's artist AU. Crawford learns a new game.





	Games Night

**Author's Note:**

> 1920's artist AU. Crawford learns a new game.

"What do you mean, you don't know how to play poker?" Schuldig says, drinking down my gin and tonic before picking up his own glass once more. "You're a _Yank_."

I regard my glass sadly and shrug in a manner that I recall once earned me a caning in school for vulgarity.

"I know how to play bridge, and whist, and –"

"Sergei, do you have cards on you?" Schuldig says, rocking back on his chair with an evil smirk on his face. "Crawford here needs to learn something new."

Plekhanov pulls a pack of battered cards from his pocket and passes it over. He lights another cigarette and waves genially at Schuldig.

"Deal, I'm in. I am very much in favour of the redistribution of Crawford's wealth." He repeats this in Russian, I think, to the twins, who giggle and raise their glasses to me.

"We're playing for pennies," I say quickly, seeing a night of humiliation and impoverishment before me. "Miss Lin, you'll agree to that, won't you?"

"I don't play poker," she says cheerfully.

"That's not what I –" Schuldig starts, only to fall silent under her steady gaze. _It's like magic,_ I think, _maybe she can teach me how to do that._

"Pennies for the first round," I repeat firmly. "And nothing higher than sixpence at a time. I suspect you might be a cardsharp, Schuldig."

He grins and shoves his glass at me. "Get me another when you're getting yourself one."

I shake my head and get up to go to the bar.

"I will have a double vodka," Plekhanov says, "and the same for the girls."

"Gin," Miss Lin says. "Thank you, Mr Crawford."

"Why even bother fleecing me at cards?" I say, but happily enough. I have no objection to spending money when I have it. One of the twins comes to the bar to help me with the glasses; she's wearing blue so it's probably Tanya. I play it safe by not using either name. When we return the table has been cleared to some extent, empty glasses placed on the floor and ashtrays shoved to the corners. It is still unpleasantly sticky to the touch, however.

"We'll play a nice, simple game for you to find your feet," Schuldig says, shuffling the cards disconcertingly quickly. "You'll catch on fast enough."

"Maybe we can play the first game without gambling?" I say, a little hopelessly.

"Betting is part of the game," Plekhanov says. "But it is only pennies. At the start. Schuldig, deal."

"Pay attention," Schuldig says. "Five cards, you can start off by betting a penny, after the first round you can discard three cards –"

I nod as if I've taken anything in after _five cards_ , and watch Schuldig's thin fingers as he deals. I should spend more time sketching his hands.

When our practice is over I look in some resignation at the piles of my small change sitting in front of Plekhanov. Schuldig passes me the deck of cards, his smile sharp and eager.

"Deal."

I look in some distrust at Tanya – or possibly Masha – as she settles herself on the arm of my chair and leans on my shoulder.

"Don't tell Plekhanov what I have, Tanya," I say.

" _Masha_ ," she says innocently, although both she and her sister are laughing and no doubt enjoy confusing people. "I am just sitting here," she adds in French, laughing again as it takes some seconds for the fact that I have understood her to register. She leans closer and lifts my glass to my lips. _Dear God_ , I think, her floral perfume heavy in my nostrils. _Please don't flirt with me in front of Plekhanov. Or Schuldig._ the thought of what either of them might say – or what it might feel like to be punched by Plekhanov – distracts me and the first hand is quickly lost.

 

By the end of the night, I am down a pound and 13 shillings, which is alarming but not unexpected. Small stakes add up, I think ruefully. Plekhanov buys the table a bottle of vodka from his share of the winnings, while Schuldig squirrels his away. I was not helped, I must admit by having Masha peering at my hand and – I have no doubt – somehow alerting her twin to it, by whatever means twins or dancers communicate without words. Tanya certainly whispered in Plekhanov's ear before he wagered more extravagantly more than once. And Schuldig, I am sure, knows the meaning of every move my face may make. There is little for him to do at work, after all, than to study me as closely as I study him.

"Another game?" Schuldig says in my ear. "Just the two of us."

"I have exactly one shilling and seven pence left on me," I say. "Leave me some dignity."

"A different bet, then," he says, and the mischief in his eyes is clear. "One hand, the winner chooses something for the loser to do."

"You must," I say, visions of the sort of thing he might publicly demand chasing across my mind, "be kidding."

"I told my family I'd be staying at a friend's house," he says. "They don't expect me home. If I win, you're the friend and you can offer me a bed for the night."

I close my eyes, just letting myself feel the tickle of his breath. "And if I win?"

He laughs. "Maybe the same deal. Whatever you want. Cut the cards."

I watch him shuffle the cards again. It would be shameful to obviously play to lose, though I very much wish to prolong my time in his company. He would make even more fun of me than usual. It is only proper to give him a fight. I shall play to win, and who knows, may get to choose that he shows up to work on time for a week. He grins cheekily and deals out two hands.

 _Remember_ , I tell myself firmly as I pick up my cards, my eyes on his face, _you are playing to win._  



End file.
